


Operation: Sleep

by orphan_account



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot, Sleepiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Michael can't sleep after a mission, it's up to Sam to help. How? With an entirely plotless handjob.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operation: Sleep

Mikey got like that after a mission sometimes; his head went some place weird and he stopped sleeping. Sam had seen it happen plenty before. Of course, the guy didn't exactly sleep great even at the best of times, but three days without a nap was getting ridiculous even for him.

At least there was something Sam could do about it.

He sat down on the floor with his legs apart and a beer in one hand. It didn't take long before Michael - stumbling, sleep-deprived Mike - sat down and leaned in against him. He tilted his head back onto Sam's shoulder. Sam put his beer down on the concrete with a soft clink and started working his fingers into Mike's hair.

"Hey buddy, you should get some rest. How about we take this to the bed?"

Mike moaned quietly. Sam, who excelled in sleepy-Mike-to-American translation, took that as a yes. He stood up, half dragging and half carrying Michael with him.

"You're lucky I keep in shape," he grumbled as Mike sank down onto the comforter. It was hard to stay mad when little Mikey arched his back like that, with his eyes shut and his mouth open. A lesser man would have ripped his shirt open and ravished him then and there. Maybe Sam would be the lesser man after his friend had got some sleep. Instead he unbuckled Mike's belt and pulled down.

"Sam, I can't..." Mike muttered.

"I know, brother," Sam said, stroking Mike's stomach, "it's OK. Sam Axe is here to save the day. Again."

He brushed a hand down against the cotton boxers and was rewarded with an interested twitch. Sam was never sure what Mikey was thinking in these moments. He hoped it was something about Fi's tight little ass, not something about C4, Berattas and manilla folders. He got enough of that when Mike was in control. When Mike's focus was on an operation his mind was as toned as his body. It did him good, Sam always thought, to let someone else take charge for a while.

"Good boy, Mikey," Sam said encouragingly as Mike's cock got hard in his hand, "there's a good boy."

Mike bucked his hips (for _go harder_ ) and moaned (for _faster_ ) so Sam did. Harder and faster, watching as Mike came undone beneath his hand. You could say a lot about Sam Axe but if there was one thing you could never accuse him of, it was not knowing his way round the human body.

"Good boy," he muttered again, reaching up to stroke Mike's chest and pulling his shirt up at the same time. Last time he'd let Mike come across one of those shirts, he'd bitched about it for days and made Chuck Finley go pick up the dry cleaning.

Mike whimpered quietly and clenched his fists. Sam sped up and rubbed across one of Mike's nipples with his thumb. It was usually enough to send Mike over the edge when he got like this - a trick Fi had shared a few years back - and today was no exception. He came in spurts across Sam's fist and across his own abs.

"Attaboy," Sam muttered and leaned down to kiss Mike on the forehead. By the time he returned with a washcloth, Michael was asleep, curled up with one hand still clutching the sheets and looking more innocent than Sam had seen him in years.

Oh well. At least the beer was still there.


End file.
